


Five Times He Knew What She Was Thinking, and One Time He Didn't

by JoeyLee



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, POV Rio (Good Girls), Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23614102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeyLee/pseuds/JoeyLee
Summary: Rio and Beth have a LOT of trouble communicating, but sometimes, somehow, he knows exactly what he's thinking.  Or, moments of clarity between two stubborn trainwrecks.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 39
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

I.

The thing was, no one took what was his. No one. He hadn’t let it happen when he was young and just coming up in the world, and he didn’t let it happen now when he was grown and on top. Not ever. Didn’t matter who they were or why they did it. 

So when Rio got the word that the store had been robbed, literally the night before they had been set to move out the stashed cash, the next steps were obvious. Find who’d done it, get the cash back, and teach them a lesson so it wouldn’t happen again. The only part still up in the air was what kind of lesson it’d be, temporary or permanent. That’d depend on well they made it up to him. 

It was too easy to find out who had hit the store and even easier to find out where they lived. And to say it was not what or who he had expected when he’d first heard the store’d been hit was probably about the biggest fucking understatement of the year. Not a rival crew or even some junkie tweakers, but three middle-aged bitches in the suburbs, one with an honest-to-god treehouse in her backyard? 

But he hadn’t gotten where he was without being able to roll with the punches, unexpected or not. So as soon as he got an address, he headed there with a couple boys to set up and wait one of them out.

Still, sitting on that big kitchen island, surrounded by plastic kids’ cups and breakfast dishes, felt like some kinda weird joke. There was an actual _golden retriever_ at his feet, which, _of course there was_ , because what other dog could it been in this white bread house? He sat there waiting for her – this _Beth Boland_ , according to his contact and the neat stack of mail next to the phone – swinging his feet and looking around and just _marveling_ over just how the fuck someone who lived in a place like this could have actually fucking robbed someone like him?

She didn’t make him wait long, which he appreciated. He heard the front door open and close, and the goofy dog finally quit panting and staring at him to bound out of the room to meet her. Then he heard her before he saw her, dawdling in the other room, talking syrupy sweet to the dog. He waited until he heard her start heading his way again, then called out quick to jolt her as she came through the doorway.

That’s when he got his first good look at her. He had already clocked what she looked like from what seemed like the hundreds of pictures (really, it was too many pictures, made the place look all cluttered and shit) scattered around the place, but shit, pictures just didn’t do her justice. They washed out all the bright colors of her, all rosy pink and fiery red with skin so pale she seemed to glow. And there wasn’t any way a picture could ever do justice to seeing that body move in person. Damn, he thought, the dude with her in all them pictures was a lucky man. 

Still, being able to appreciate a stone cold fox standing right in front of him didn’t take nothing away from the fact that she had stolen from him and that shit was never gonna fly, no matter what she looked like. So he smiled gently and wiggled his fingers besides the gun next to him to draw her attention to it, then told her to gather up her girls for the reckoning. 

* * *

A few days later, still no money, the novelty of hanging out in little suburban coffee shops and big suburban kitchens had worn off. He thought he’d impressed upon them the seriousness of their little situation and that they’d move quick to sell some stock or ask daddy or do whatever suburban bitches did to get money when they needed it. Not push him off with empty promises. He’d heard that song enough on the street and didn’t like it any more then than he did now.

So when he’d showed up to her house again and they were still short, he could see the list of all the possible ways this could play out narrowing down to just one. 

He tried to avoid bodies when he could, too messy, but they weren’t leaving him any other options. Even making every possible allowance for the fact that they had no fucking idea how the game was played, he didn’t think he could of been any clearer that he wanted the money – _all of it, with interest_ – and that was the _only_ deal he was making. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t given them (or her?) a break he wasn’t totally sure he would have given anyone else by giving them (her?) extra time to get all the money back. 

After all that, and they still didn’t have it? Just who exactly did they think they were and, more importantly, who did they think he was that he’d let them get away with it. 

Then the little one pulled out a shoe box full of tacky little dolls that looked like shit and started chattering away, all folksy and persuasive like she was testing out a new door-to-door sales pitch for Tupperware or some shit, actually trying to convince him to _sell pieces of crap on fucking eBay_ to get back his own fucking money they had stolen? 

With that, he’d had enough. They were just bored suburban bitches, who'd bitten off more than they could chew, then hadn't taken any of this as serious as it deserved when he’d given them every chance to fix their mistake. 

They were a mess, and he always made it a point of cleaning up his messes.

He gave his boys the nod and checked out, retreating to the living room to check his messages. It started to play out the way it usually did. His boys started to bust up the place. The women started to scream. He tuned it all out, like he usually did. 

But then, she started talking. This _Beth Boland_. First low and shaky, then louder and stronger. There was something about her voice, and…had she actually just called him an _idiot_? 

He glanced up, took her in. Sitting there straight-backed with Mick’s gun nestled almost gently in her bright hair, she was staring right back at him. All middle-aged white lady indignant and just so spitting mad. He couldn’t seem to look away, didn’t even want to try, really. Because he could hear what she was saying, but he could also tell what she was thinking, just as if she had said it out loud along with the rest of her little speech. 

**_How dare you?_**

It was so unexpected he almost laughed. The other two were holding each other and crying, scared out of their minds, and she was too, he could see that easy, but she was also actually…pissed off. 

_She_ was pissed at _him._ This crazy suburban lady who had _robbed_ him couldn’t believe he would _dare_ to hold her feet to the fire for it. 

It intrigued him.

People tended to be one note in his line of work. Interactions, big or small, usually went pretty much the same way every time. But this was different. She was different. A gun to her head and still trying to put him in his place. She just intrigued him, that’s all, and not many people did. 

And not like he’d admit it to her or nothing, but she was probably right about the whole uproar that would come from putting bullets in three soccer moms. Like she said, hashtags and shit. It wasn’t enough to think about forgiving 500 grand or any dumb shit like that, but…enough to look past a few grand short for a little while longer. Besides, he needed a little time to think. Her angry little speech about _good people_ and _PF Chang’s_ and _orange slices_ was giving him the beginning of an idea. 

He knew where to find her. He’d come back later and show her what else he could _dare_ to think up. 

II.

He could tell the exact moment the thought first crossed her mind. Of her and him, _together_. 

‘Course it wasn’t the first time _he_ had thought it though he doubted that made him special or nothing. Hard to believe there was a straight dude alive between age 20-80 who didn’t see that face or that body for the first time and wonder what it’d be like to fuck her. Didn’t mean nothing and wouldn’t stop him from doing what he needed to do. 

But her thinking the same thing about him? Nah. It just hadn’t been in her face any of the other times they’d met before. Not like there weren’t a lot of reasons for that, even assuming they’d of met at the park or some shit instead of how they did. And maybe it was all the reasons instead of just one in particular. He was too young, too inked, too brown, too _other_. 

In her kitchen and dining room that first week they met, he’d watched her face, indifferently at first, but then more closely. He watched her try to think her way out of the hell she was in and all he saw was fear and panic and anger. He got no sense of her trying to butter him up or blinking those big eyes at him to try to make him see things – or her – from another angle. Which made sense then, wasn’t like it was exactly the time or place.

But then all the times later, on her patio, at the warehouse, in her bedroom, it still wasn’t there when she looked at him even as she started to change how she talked to him, acted with him. 

He really had thought he’d see it after she left those damn pearls at the warehouse. He’d shown up in her kitchen, maybe a little quicker than he wanted to admit to himself, after one of his people had dropped them on his desk, just really fucking curious as to how all this was gonna play out. But all she’d done was sip her drink and earnestly propose more jobs. He’d agreed of course, because _money_ , but he had also thought seriously about clueing her in to the other definition of “pearl necklace” just to see what she’d do. 

And after that, when he saw her, she was still jumpy and skittish, yeah, but also more confident somehow each time? Almost even…. _bossy_ , like when she was straight up fucking lecturing him on what he should really be doing with Eddie like he was her damn kid refusing to eat vegetables or something, instead of thanking God that he was even offering her a piece of the pie. Hell, he’d even clocked defiance in her eyes in that cafeteria when she should have been shaking in those little leather boots to have actually dragged him to fucking _Sam’s Club_ for a meet, of all the fucking places. 

So no, all the times before, it hadn’t been there when she looked at him. But it wasn’t there now neither, sitting in her little van with her wringing her hands, expecting him to freak out like her just because the FBI had a _picture_ of him and fretting all naïve and shit about what possible reason there could be for _him and her_ _to be_ _seen together_? 

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. The easy answer was staring her in the face, and he could tell it hadn’t even occurred to her. Damn, she acted like she had no fucking clue what she looked like. And it wasn’t like he didn’t know what he looked like neither or how far his smile could get him and had gotten him with women in the past. 

He took a deep breath in frustration. He had other shit to do and this little arrangement wasn’t gonna last long if she couldn’t think quicker on her feet. He was two seconds from bouncing. Let her figure something out on her own. 

But she looked so worried, sitting there all straight and proper, but still so agitated, her little hands flexing and unflexing on the steering wheel. And credit where credit was due, he had to give it up to her. She had actually just come through and delivered his cut, courtesy of her crazy-ass plan, so he decided to throw her a freebie and give her the way out. 

_Aight, so tell ‘em I was hittin’ it._ Said deliberately blunt, eyes locked on her face the whole time, just to see those blue eyes widen. She looked so shocked that he almost laughed, so he softened it teasingly just to keep her going. _Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart, tell ‘em we were makin’ love._

Then he just watched her, just watched her face, just fucking fascinated. Her lips were parted and her eyes were big as saucers, and… _there it was_. Before she could look away flustered, he watched the thought go through her mind. 

**_Him and her together_ ** _._

He wondered what she was picturing or where. Them in the back seat, her bed, a motel? Her on top or him from behind or his face between her legs? 

Whatever it was, the blush started immediately, and he watched it bloom out from her cheeks to her hair. Then she was tearing her eyes away to gulp a little. But it didn’t knock her down for long before she was looking back. And then, wait, _was she_ _actually asking him how to go about telling a fed they were fucking?_

He grinned, feeling a little rush of something almost like affection. Damn, she really was a trip. 

But, he still had shit to do and couldn’t mess around with her all day, even if he sorta wanted to just to keep her going. So he grabbed up the bag and ducked out of the car, telling her she’d figure it out. 

Besides, he knew he’d see her again soon. And he was looking forward to it, just to watch her face some more. 

She hadn’t been thinking about it before. But he figured she’d probably be thinking about it now. 

III.

Months later, he was no closer to figuring her out than he’d been the first time he sat in her kitchen. She told him she was afraid of the FBI sniffing around, then she dared him to up the drop amounts. He gave her good advice, then she didn’t take it. She acted like robbing that grocery store the first time had been totally out of character, then actually went back and robbed the same damn place _again_ , oh, and set him _up to be arrested at the same time_. 

She was unbelievable. 

When he’d realized that Elizabeth was the one behind his arrest, the first thing he did after making bail was to swing by his place to pick up his gun. Then he was heading to her house, more angry than he could ever remember being. All those years coming up, keeping his record relatively clean, carefully avoiding any kind of felony bust, then to have all that disappear? Because of her? Because she got her panties in a twist for him telling her they was through after _she_ had freaked out on _him_ when the only damn thing that had happened to her was being pulled over driving an empty truck? Then to have her actually fucking throw keys _in his face_ , something he _knew_ he wouldn’t have taken from anybody else? So excuse _him_ if he had been pissed after that and didn’t say goodbye _polite and shit_ like she was obviously expecting. Didn’t realize that was the only thing standing between her committing armed robbery (again!) and selling him out on top of that.

But when he had gotten to her house and the only person there was that stupid piece of shit she was married to (which, how? _How_ the hell had this asshole ever landed, then held on to, a woman like her? It made no damn sense), and then they’d gone a few rounds and his knuckles were raw and aching (but how _satisfying_ it was to see CarMan’s face looking like raw hamburger), by the time she was walking through the door, all his white-hot rage had simmered down to the point where he was thinking clearer again. Then, he was distracted from it all even more as watched her face change, from crying and begging when he had the gun to dry-eyed and determined when she had it, spitting coldly at her husband to shut up, not a damn trace of anything sounding like love or concern in her voice. He had to be closer, so he walked over and got into her space, close enough to breathe the same air. And then it was like everything narrowed down to just the two of them and it wasn’t even like her husband was in the same damn room anymore. Even with the loaded gun in her hand pointed at his chest, she seemed to melt as she looked up at him, and it was like the anger in him melted a little more too. By the time he had taken back the gun and run his finger down her cheek, he felt almost gentle. 

There were still reasons to keep her around. (To get rid of the idiot store manager, to make him money, to use as a fall guy if the feds got too close – he could think of a dozen more if he tried hard enough). No need to clean up this mess permanently that night. 

‘Course, that didn’t stop him from putting a bullet in her husband before he left, just to even things up between them a little more, but that just a cherry on top of the sundae as far as he was concerned.

* * *

After that night, things settled down a bit, but she stayed just as difficult as ever. And, aside from those couple times when he’d looked at her and felt like they were exactly in sync, she was still a mystery. Which would have been okay – not like you had to be best friends or soulmates or some shit to be in business with somebody – if only it didn’t also come with constant non-stop crazy-ass drama. 

Like tonight, for instance. A few weeks ago, he had watched, almost not believing his own eyes, as she stood on a step ladder in the middle of the night in a fluffy robe and pajamas that looked like something his grandfather used to wear, installing a _damn stop sign_ (which...what happened to the first one? where had she gotten this one? why was she doing it at 3 am?). When she had seen him, she’d wandered over to him like she was in a dream, then stared up at him with those eyes in that face all weary and tremulous and sighed out that she couldn’t kill anyone, not ever. Then, just days later, she was walking confidently into his bar, brisk and matter-of-fact in her little tight business blazer, telling him _it_ was done (how? _now_ she could kill someone? what changed from Stop Sign Night?) and _she_ was done, and he wouldn’t be seeing her again. 

And now? Now, here she was again at the same bar she had swept out of just days before, sitting at a table with her husband _who he had shot_ in tow, drinking her bourbon slow and deliberate, looking directly at him. 

The balls on her. 

Before he saw her, his plans had been to finish his drink and head out. He’d been texting with a girl who worked the front desk at Marcus’s karate studio. Carla was tiny and giggly with full lips the color of cherries. _Come over_ , she’d sent, then texted her address. But when the crowd shifted and he saw Elizabeth sitting there, hair shining like a halo under the light and wearing a sweet little dress with polka dots that couldn’t have looked more out of place in that crowd, he was texting back on autopilot – _something’s come up, hit you up later_ – then putting his phone away to watch her _._

She seemed relaxed in a way he hadn’t never seen her before or maybe because he hadn’t never seen her before with just enough bourbon. He watched her twirl her hair around her fingers and he watched her throat work slowly as she savored the drink. And he waited to see what she would do. Until the moment she tipped back the last swallow and stood up. She met his eyes directly and, once again, it seemed like he knew exactly what she was thinking. 

**_Follow me_.**

He did. Didn’t even stop to think about it. Didn’t know what she wanted to talk about or why, didn’t care either, just followed her to the back, not even giving a look at her dumbass husband as he passed. 

She wasn’t anywhere in the back hallway when he got there, but somehow he had known she wouldn’t be. It felt like she had tied a string to him somehow, and now she was just tugging on it, pulling him along to follow behind her. He wasn’t surprised when he tried the door of the first bathroom for the knob to turn easily, and he wasn’t surprised when he slipped in to find her standing at the sink looking back at him in the mirror.

He wasn’t drunk. Had only had a couple shots of tequila all night. But standing there, back against the door, the rhythmic line of the bass thumping in his ears, watching her watching him in the mirror, he felt like he’d drunk the bottle.

She turned around and stepped closer and he realized he was holding his breath. She was close enough to push past him back out the door to her husband, she was close enough to kiss. She didn’t do neither though. Instead, she reached behind him to turn the lock. 

He willed himself to stay still, to wait, to let her take the lead. But he couldn’t stop himself from moving when she turned back to the sink and gripped it, dropping her head so her hair fell forward to expose her neck and pulling up the hem of her dress just enough to tell him exactly what she wanted. He moved closer until he felt like he was just fucking _enveloped_ by the warmth of her body and the smell of her hair, even as he tried to surround her with himself, his lips on the back of her neck, his hand running up her thigh to find her panties so he could tear them off. 

He looked up to watch them framed together in the dirty bathroom mirror. Him with one hand up her dress, the other palming her breast over the little polka dots, her with her head thrown back against his shoulder, eyes closed and mouth open. He thought it was the hottest fucking thing he had ever seen. 

He wasn’t thinking nothing too clearly after that, except how wet and tight she was as he fucked her hard and fast against the wall. Holding her up and holding himself back with everything he had, waiting to feel her start to fall apart, just so he could follow her down. Then he was coming so hard that his jaw ached from clenching it, panting into her neck as he tried to catch his breath. 

She didn’t say a word after they finished. Head down, eyes turned away, she just uncurled herself from around him and smoothed out her dress, as proper and ladylike as ever. Like she hadn’t just been digging her nails in the back of his neck, clenched tight around his cock, gasping in his ear as she came. He couldn’t stop looking at her. Her cheeks were flushed the prettiest pink and her hair was wild from where his lips and hands had been. 

But he followed her lead and didn’t say nothing neither. Just kept quiet, let her ease out around him and back out the door. 

He wondered what she’d do next. Somehow knew that whatever it was, there was a pretty good chance he’d be following after her again.


	2. Chapter 2

IV.

They had a good thing going. Her cars and his pills. It worked. _They_ worked. 

Sure, he was the one with the connections, the muscle, the product. But it wasn’t like she brought nothing to the table, in fact, the opposite. Elizabeth had the cars and the network to transport them. She was organized and efficient as shit. And she was constantly coming up with ideas about how better to move the cars, to cook the books, to double their storage. 

The funny thing was that the some of the ideas weren’t half bad neither, for all that she had about the same experience with the other side of the law as he had had at 15 hustling to sell nickel bags. A couple of them were so good that he was annoyed he hadn’t thought of them first ( _he didn’t tell her that, figured she was too crazy confident enough already)_. 

But best of all, she cloaked everything in that innocent white lady shit that she did so good, so good that sometimes even he found himself caught up in it. Like, just watching her smile all goofy big and awkward but looking so damn cute at her commercial, he could almost forget that he had also once watched her on a surveillance video replay committing armed robbery in a black ski mask. You just took one look at her and thought no way anything she touched wasn’t the most wholesome Betty Crocker shit ever, even if you straight up knew the opposite was true. It – no, _she_ – was the perfect cover for business. 

So yeah, they worked. In _business_. 

Everything else? Christ, who the hell knew. 

After the bathroom, he had half-figured ( _hell, maybe all-the-way figured_ ) that it had been the start of something. No way it could be that good and they’d only be doing it once. He figured he’d follow her lead and she wouldn’t wait long to make the next move.

But then…nothing. She didn’t call or text or come back to the bar, much less drape some pearls over a door handle to get him to come running. 

And when he had broken down and went to find her ( _and it wasn’t even like he broke down,_ he told himself, ‘ _cause who could blame him when it was that good, any man would of done the same_ ), he had found her at the dealership with that loser she was married to. The two of them together, both looking boring and bored, sure, but also married and coupled as fuck, like he hadn’t just watched them on what had to have been the world’s worst date, given that it had included him fucking Elizabeth in a bathroom right in the middle of it. 

She hadn’t told her husband, he saw it right away. And when she whispered, pleaded ( _don’t_ ), it made him feel funny, almost itchy, torn between wanting to do what she said but also blowing everything up for her by spilling every dirty detail, just to shake her up, snap her out of whatever weird freeze had a hold of her to keep her tied to this asshole. 

But in the end, that one word from her had been all it took. He kept his mouth shut. About them fucking at least. 

He figured he was owed something in return though. Which was probably what made him to decide to flip his game, on the spot, just like he had done a hundred times before and make it clear to them both that he and Elizabeth were together. In business, at least (w _hich probably shouldn’t have meant busting the Corvette all to hell, but nobody was perfect, and that tacky banana-ass car had annoyed the shit out of him_ ). 

Later though, for all that he had come up with the business “partners” idea on the fly, the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. Leverage her unique talents and assets, money-wise, while keeping tabs on her. 

And sure, maybe it was also about staying close until she woke up and acknowledged that once wasn’t anywhere close to enough. ‘Cause it was just a matter of time before she admitted that to herself, right? 

Wrong. 

Yes, they had started making money hand over fist, just like he had figured they would, but on the personal level, somehow Elizabeth was even more touch-me-not than she had been before. Before he knew what she sounded like when she came or what it felt like to be inside her. 

So he teased her. He baited her right and left. He took care to always stand just a step closer to her than was necessary, took every chance he could to drift his fingers down her arm, her back. Lowered his voice like he could tell she liked just to see if her eyes would flutter. 

Anything to get a rise out of her, a reaction.

He knew it was straight up pulling-pigtails-on-the-playground shit. He also knew the smart play was to palm her off on Mick and stop handling every meeting himself. ‘Cause it wasn’t like he was handling any of his other distributors the same with in-person meetings every single time and for every little reason under the sun. But somehow, every time there was a reason to meet ( _and for real, sometimes it seemed like he was the one coming up with the reasons_ ), he found himself on the way to the dealership, her backyard, their bar, any thought of texting Mick to handle it already forgotten. 

A couple times, drunk and in bed alone late at night, when he really stopped and thought about it, he acknowledged it was all a little weird. ‘Cause he couldn’t even remember the last time he had to chase a woman. Although again, it was not like he was chasing her ( _‘cause he didn’t do shit like that_ ), he was just being smart and keeping an eye on her while also having some harmless fun. 

And it _was_ fun. 

Elizabeth was beautiful as fuck, sure, but that wasn’t all of it, or even most of it. She was a trip to talk to. Could drink like a fish. 

He liked watching her face, all animated and shit, as she laid out her “business propositions” to him, which is what she called her sometimes crazy, occasionally genius ideas for improving “their” business. 

He liked getting to the park early for a meet to see her with her kids or showing up unexpected at the dealership, just to watch her boss 8-year-olds or middle-aged salesmen alike around, all sugar sweetness wrapped around steel. 

He liked eavesdropping on her with her girls, to hear her warm voice teasing them or laughing full-bodied and free, the way she never did with him. 

Shit, it wasn’t like he was _in love_ with her. It was just curiosity. And a lot of frustration. It had been good. _Damn_ good. For him, yes, but he knew damn well it had been for her too. And it wasn’t like there seemed to be much going on between her and that moron she had at home. So what was with the hands-off act?

He told himself that just ‘cause he handled her personally didn’t mean she was getting special treatment. It was just more fun to listen to her jabber than say, Carlos, who barely strung 10 words together at his most talkative, and 80% of that was droning on about the latest muscle car he was rebuilding. And so what if it was more fun looking at her, an honest-to-God centerfold come to life, than at say, Mick, who looked like, well, Mick. He still treated everybody fair and the same.

But then one night, she called him, crying, frantic, and he was dropping everything and in his car headed to meet her. When she told him she’d gone into the house ( _a hundred times he had told her, stay clear of the scum junkies who pushed their product at the street level, a hundred times_ ), he yelled at her to shape the fuck up while his fingers itched to grab her and shake her until she could never think about doing something so dangerous again. 

Then he was heading over to the house to see if her little girl was there, even knowing she wasn’t. 

And then one day, _she_ had called _him_ over to her house, and it had been so novel to be invited, and in the bright sunlight to boot, that he was dropping everything again and heading over to sit on her picnic table, looking down at her little bare foot curled up next to his shoe. When she told him that she had buried his money in the back yard, but now it was gone because some teenagers had tied up her dumbass husband and stuffed her… _you know_ (here she had lowered her voice and looked up at him blushing through her long eyelashes, willing him to understand) in the fool’s mouth, he laughed so hard he felt like he was gonna choke. 

Then he was offering to take care of the kids who’d robbed her, even knowing it was her mess to clean up. 

It was later that night, playing pool with Mick, that he finally got his wake-up call. He’d been relaying the story – every detail, with the holes all over the backyard and the teenaged home invasion and the panties-in-the-mouth – laughing again, ‘cause shit, it was just so fucking funny. Still chuckling, he finished up by mentioning his offer to get the money back, then sank his shot. 

When Mick didn’t say nothing in response, he looked up. Saw the expression on Mick’s face, read his silence for what it was. Replayed what he had just said, what he'd done, and realized he’d offered to take care of it for her, no strings attached, no 200 grand like the last time, nothing in return. Just him, helping her. Like with the baby blanket, which Mick had also unfortunately been privy to. 

Saw how he must look ( _whipped, soft, weak_ ). 

It stopped him short, as sudden as ice water to the face. What the fuck was he doing? Wasn’t like him and her were friends and wasn’t like he’d stick his neck out like this for any other business “partner” ( _or more to the point, an_ employee). And damn, wasn’t even like they were fucking. 

Which is why the next time Elizabeth came to him, this time asking for 35 grand, no explanation, no reason, when she still owed ( _when he had offered to help and she had turned him down and made like her way was better, like_ she _was better_ ), he knew it was long past time to be treating her same as anybody else. 

So his answer was the same as it would have been for anybody else. No. And the reminder that _she_ owed _him_. 

All his resolve be damned though, he still found himself trying to let her down easy, instead of laughing in her face or going cold, like it would have been for anybody else. Instead, he teased her gently to try to soften the _no_. When she just sat there looking so pale and sad, that’s when he had to jump up to leave before he did something stupid. Like cutting her a break. Again. 

But then it turned out that setting limits with her worked because soon she was texting to meet at the bar again, and this time, she told him she had his money. Only not with her, back at her house. 

He told himself he shouldn’t go, that he should make her go home alone and bring him back his cut, now that they were finally back on track to having proper boundaries and such with their little relationship. But shit, it would have taken balls of steel to turn down an invitation to Elizabeth’s house with her smiling so bright and tipsy, and he just didn’t have them. 

The whole drive over, following behind her mama van, he wondered just what exactly she was thinking. He kept on wondering as he watched her bustle around her kitchen chewing on her lip as she looked through her fridge, somehow bizarrely fixated on making him an afternoon snack like he was a neighborhood kid over for a play date. 

He teased her a little, just to bring her focus back to him, and when she smiled so big in response, bigger than she had ever smiled at him before, his throat clenched for a second. 

_Why am I here, Elizabeth?_ He finally just asked, because he wanted to stop wondering. 

In response, she led him to her bedroom. 

He’d been there once before. Then, it had been loud with the sounds of the party and of kids laughing outside. Now, it was so quiet he could hear a car door closing down the street. 

He felt so alert his skin was prickling, as he watched her take off first her coat, then her boots. He’d watched a lot of women take off their clothes in front of him. None of them had ever moved so precise, made a striptease so careful. 

It shouldn’t have felt seductive. But it did. And just like when he’d watched her install a stop sign in the middle of the night, and all the times he had watched her since, he couldn’t look away. He kept himself still and waited, didn’t want to do nothing to break the moment. 

She finally got her little boots off and straightened up, watching him. He took it as an invitation to run his eyes all up and down her, taking her in. When he got to her feet, tenderness, unexpected but somehow right, tugged at him. Her little socks were colorful but mismatched. 

He grinned before he could stop himself. When she followed his gaze down and saw what he saw, he watched her swallow and close her eyes briefly. But just like all those months ago, when he had thrown her for a loop with suggesting how she should lie to the FBI, it didn’t knock her down for long. She opened her eyes and her lips quirked up into a little smile, somehow both embarrassed but still resolved all at once. 

She took a breath and squared her shoulders. Then she walked three steps to the center of the room and stopped, stood by the bed all shiny and vulnerable and determined. She didn’t say nothing out loud to call him to her, but he could see just what she was thinking in her eyes. 

**_Please don’t tease._ **

So he didn’t. 

He didn’t make her walk all the rest of the way across the room to meet him. He met her halfway. 

And then when they were standing just inches apart, he didn’t hold his head back to make her stand on tiptoe all the way up to kiss him. He bent down so it could be easy for her to close the distance. 

And when they finally made it to the bed, he didn’t lick and kiss to make her beg, to make her finally admit out loud what she wanted, like she had been making him admit to himself for months. Instead he licked and kissed to make her come, again and again. 

He just gave her back all the things she was giving him, without trying to make it a game for one of them to win. 

When it was over, he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her face, her eyes closed and cheeks flushed, bright hair fanned out damp and curly on the pillow. She had fallen asleep, and he was torn between letting her sleep and teasing her awake with his mouth and his hands so they could start all over again. 

But she looked so peaceful, all the worry from before gone from her face, he found himself just laying there, watching her. 

Let her sleep, he could tease her later. They had time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I have finally found some missing inspiration, just following all the kickass creators in this fandom on Tumblr and reading the authors on here. Also, by forcing myself to post chapter by chapter, maybe I won't spend another 3 months tinkering and retinkering the same paragraph (yeah right).

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Quarantine boredom led me to binge the entire first two seasons of Good Girls in a week. I'm definitely hooked and loving reading all the works this fandom has produced, y'all are crazy talented! I am breaking this up into two chapters to force myself to stop tinkering with the first half and finish the second half!train


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